The last entry, by Ken Belford

We were talking about water the other day,
and I thought there’s a fictional literacy
called access, that some of us get there
by going a different way. Some doors work,
some don’t. People used to think narrative
depicted subjects but now it’s about
the gestures of avatars. Old meaning is
the assimilation of the words of others.
It’s a kind of camera surveillance, so
I alter my behaviour when I’m shifting
around town. When asked, I say
my server is down. In the old oral texts,
results are rewarded, and the words
made flesh. Teachers point at the page
and point at the text but today
I’m thinking the metaphor of flow
has to do with slow. I mean, this looks
like a poem on a page but there’s a world
of difference. My narrative is waves of meaning
crashing through a watery code. Sometimes
meaning is stupid and reading is painful.
With you, clusters of tiny, new perceptions
shift and turn at once and I don’t know
how it works, but I can see it. I can see you
in the river and as crazy as it sounds,
I can hear your cries for help.